FISHING 
You ask me, why I love this fishing. 
Why, by some quiet stream 1 care to stray, 
When far from out the south a-blowing, 
The wind comes gently at the break of day. 
You ask me, why 1 love to harken 
As o’er the mossy stones, the waters sing. 
Why, often there, 1 stop and ponder 
The message that those laughing waters bring 
I answer: Have you tried this fishing, 
When round your soul life’s weary burdens lie? 
Have you gone forth and heard the waters 
That sing of peace, beneath God’s open sky? 
Of peace and rest, rest for one weary. 
Of strength to throw aside some long-borne care. 
That joy one only finds a-fishing, 
Such have 1 found beside the waters there. 
MAY 9, 1914 
